Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I caught both her wrists before she could push my shirt up in front of half the warehouse. “I’m fine.”
“You went into a burning building.” Tamsin frowned up at me, breathing too fast as she tried to tug her hands free. Relief softened the force of her glare, but it did nothing to hide the anger burning beneath it. “I need to make sure you’re not hurt.”
A streak of soot crossed one cheek beneath the freckles scattered over her fair skin, probably transferred when she wiped her face while coordinating the evacuation. I released her wrists and brushed my thumb across the mark, letting the contact linger because the blush that followed was worth every second.
Tamsin’s eyes dropped to my mouth before rising again, and the quick movement sent a brutal pulse through my cock. Given another minute without an audience, I would have put her against the warehouse wall and kissed the taste of smoke and worry from her mouth until she forgot anyone else existed.
“You missed some,” she murmured, her attention moving over the soot on my jaw.
“You volunteering?”
Her lips parted, and color rushed higher into her cheeks before she remembered where we were. She stepped back, although not far enough to break the warmth between us.
The fire crews continued ventilating the building while I went back through the records section with two brothers. The burn pattern led to the lowest shelves along the rear wall, where the remains of a compact incendiary device had been wedged behind boxes of older reconciliation reports. Its casing had warped beneath the heat, but enough remained to show that the fire had started there.
Whoever planted it had targeted paper instead of controlled material. They wanted the records gone without risking an immediate blast large enough to destroy the building before the files burned. The timing made the intent even clearer. The device ignited only after Tamsin had started lining up years of altered reports and exposing a pattern someone had expected to stay buried.
Cipher met me near the rear access panel with a tablet in one hand. He had already pulled the electronic log and isolated the last credential used before our lockdown. The rear door had opened earlier that morning under a shared supervisory access group, broad enough to cover several people and useless for identifying one individual without more work.
“Valid credential,” he clarified, angling the screen toward me. “Operations group. No unique assignment.”
“Kill all active access.”
Cipher nodded and started working. The operations manager heard me from several feet away and crossed the damaged loading area with a disbelieving frown, his dress shirt wrinkled from the long day and smoke still hanging in the air behind him. Tamsin’s father followed more slowly, exhaustion carved deep around his mouth as he looked toward the destroyed records.
“You cannot suspend every company credential,” Len ranted. “We have jobs scheduled, materials that need to move, and employees who require access to do their work. We’re already at risk of losing clients after last night.”
“The warehouse stays closed until every fucking credential is reissued to one verified person,” I replied, watching his expression harden. “Nobody gets through a door because six damn people share the same access.”
“That could take days.” He gestured toward the blackened rear corridor. “The company may not survive a complete shutdown.”
“Losing a client costs money.” I stepped closer, forcing him to tip his head back to hold my gaze. “Losing a fucking employee costs more.”
Len turned toward Tamsin’s father, clearly expecting the owner to overrule the biker taking control of his building. Tamsin spoke before her dad had the chance, moving to stand beside me with her shoulders squared despite the exhaustion shadowing her face.
“Gavin is right.” She glanced toward the records corridor, pain tightening her mouth before she faced Len again. “Someone used valid access to start that fire after we began reviewing those files. They may still have credentials for the warehouse, range, or another company property, and I’m not putting anyone back inside until we know who can open every door.”
“We have obligations,” he reminded her, his tone edging toward the patient condescension that had already begun irritating me.
“We have employees,” Tamsin countered. “Cancel what needs to be canceled. Nothing moves until access is fixed.”
Her father looked between them for a long moment, then nodded toward Cipher. “Do it.”
I folded my arms across my chest and planted my boots beside Tamsin while she began directing supervisors to send the remaining employees home. She had given the order, her father backed it, and Len reluctantly turned away to notify the crews.
I waited until he had moved beyond easy hearing before bending close to Tamsin. The wild curls escaping her ponytail brushed my jaw, and the scent of smoke clung to her skin beneath the faint sweetness. “Knew you liked my plan.”